Isabelle, using a slightly curved piece of mammoth bone, fished a couple pieces of heated rock out of the fire and placed them in a bowl. The bowl was a mammoth knee bone, and she had filled it to the top with water. She bent over the bowl, waiting until the water began to boil to pour it into two cups, one for herself and the other for Charlie. Slowly, she saw bubbles appear in the water as she looked into it. In her cup was a mixture of golden thread and antelope root, the same as usual, and in the bottom of Charlie’s sat ginseng and licorice root; the licorice to calm his bouts of stress and to sweeten it. He was not used to tea, yet.

She poured in the boiling water and set the cups aside to steep. Charlie had awoken early, as usual, and asked if he could have a much-needed walk. She agreed, happily, in earnest; he was particularly worn out and stressed after their hunting the day before; they had brought down four deer, enough to last a couple weeks, food wise. They were lucky, to find food in this time of year, in the valley in which they lived together. They had only been living together for half of a year, and yet they could work so well as a pair.

Isabelle smiled, remembering the first time she saw him, laying on the riverbank, muddied and cut all over his body. His Camp was new, he had moved in the floodplain with his family, a mile upstream. They had been there for a week when a flash flood struck. Isabelle had found him and somehow got him up into her little cave in the rocky outcroppings, taking care of him there. She looked for more people later, but could only find bits and pieces from their Camp; a few bowls and cups, some spears; the flood had spared only one or two furs.

She smiled, now, not for his tragedy but for what he had brought her. For so long, she was by herself, and yearned for someone to be with. The Clan - the ones who had adopted her when she was so young and unknown to them, and had No People for she was alone - had been her only people. Yes, they hit her; yes, they had struck her to the ground to show their dominance; yes, to them she was an abomination, nothing more than an animal; they said she was ugly, and would never find a mate, someone to share her life with; but she had had People, and they were her People. When she was fourteen, she was becoming too different from them; too tall, towering over the men, but slim, not broad like the other women. She was too much trouble for her worth and was exiled, unable to return. She had lived by herself in the valley for two years, until she found Charlie.

She stood up and walked to the entrance, peering out, and could see Charlie walking up the steep stairs to the cave. It was a cold morning, but it was not from the cold, but a thought, that made her face turn red. It had not been two months since she had healed Charlie that they shared the same furs at night. His love for her was profuse, and her love for him was undeniable. He had been the first to ever tell her she was beautiful, and even now, she refused it, both because of her modest upbringing and disbelief of her attractiveness.

She looked out upon the vast steppes and was interrupted as Charlie came up to her.

“Come inside; the cold’s making your face raw.” She blushed even more, nodding and stepping into the cave, out of the cold. He picked his tea off the ground and handed Isabelle hers as well. They sat down around the softly glowing fire, content. “It’s warmer out,” he said. “The river has a nice depth; maybe we should go swimming later.”

“You… you just said it was cold; it feels cold,” said Isabelle, softly, not meaning to be rude.

“Well; a small swim wouldn’t hurt us.”

“I do need to wash a little…”

“After breakfast?” asked Charlie, a boyish-like look on his face. She nodded, grinning. He looked young; at least young for his age. He cut his beard, often shaving it off completely, which surprised her. She had never met a man who shaved his beard.

Charlie said he was twenty-one springs old; five years older than her, in age, a large amount, almost unacceptable. Their union would not have been allowed in her Clan. But Charlie did not talk of a Matrimonial, or any sort of union. He said he loved her, but never made plans. She wanted a family - a mate and, above all, children, but it could not happen with only him and her living in her cave. They would have to return to his People, and tell them of what happened to the Camp, and hold ceremonies for those who had died…. But she was, or had been, a member of the Clan. The Clan was hated for their differences and animosity, but Isabelle was different - she was not born Clan. She was adopted, and therefore not truly Clan. Nevertheless, she did not know if Charlie’s Camp would want her, if they would like her once she told them.

“Let’s go now; we can bring breakfast,” suggested Charlie. “I haven’t swum in ages.”

“You are very eager, Charlie,” she noticed, looking into his green eyes as she smiled. He was a handsome man, tall and broad. He was the only man who had ever stood over her and could look over her head, because of his height. He found out, some time ago, that he could lift her up in his arms and carry her; she was all at once delighted, astonished, scared, and annoyed. Having her feet leave the ground was very exhilarating, but the thought of being in his arms eased the fright and aggravation away. His body was, these days, tense; he was unable to convince Isabelle to come to his Camp and meet his People. He could not leave her, but she would not leave her cave. To her, it was home, the most of a home she had ever had; she need not move for Charlie; they could start a family right here! But then she felt guilty, for Charlie had a family that needed him back; an extended family. The flood killed his immediate family.

A couple families had decided to create a new Camp because of crowding, and most of them came from the Fox Camp, the Camp Charlie had grown up in, so there would be space when he returned - if he did.

But when his body was not tense, it was beautiful, with strong muscles that rippled, carved from his flesh, and ivory skin that Isabelle loved to touch. But with his strength came his gentleness. He could be as strong to wield his large ax and cut down trees in three swipes, but he surpassed his amount of strength with his gentleness. He could pick Isabelle up, softly, and place her in bed, holding her as if she would break; or he could talk with words in such a way it touched her so deeply it was inexpressible. He was so loving, and her heart was always longing for him, beating faster when she thought of him, loving him with everything she had. He would play with her hair or hold her hands as he talked to her, because he knew that was what she liked. He was more than she could ever have wished for; he had more beautiful qualities in him than she suspected any man of having. She believed it was more than coincidence that he washed up on the bank outside her cave.

She looked over at him lovingly, sipped the last of her tea, and got up to fetch some hides they could use to wrap themselves in once they were done swimming.

Swimming…. Such a funny word. The Clan never spoke. They, instead of using words like Charlie’s People, used an elaborate amount of hand gestures. It took a long time for Isabelle to catch on; she was born to speak words, not with her hands. When Charlie came, he had to teach her his own language, which she was quite fluent in now. Her ability to pick up languages so quickly amazed him and made him proud of her.

She found the hides and took with her some dried meat and berries, for their breakfast. Charlie was standing at the mouth of the cave, ready to go. She joined him, and they walked down to the bank together. She waded into the water with him, and strayed from him into the shade of a lone tree on the edge of the river. The valley was not particularly lush, especially at this time of year, but the evergreen was full with green needles, ready for winter. The water was cold, chilling her to the bone, so cold it almost felt scalding hot to her sensitive skin. She waded towards the opposite side of the tree from Charlie, and then undressed. She was modest about her body.

“Belle,” he said, calling her with the shortened name he had given her, playfully.

She sunk into the water, and brushed and rubbed her body. She waded, up to her shoulders in water, to Charlie. He reached out for her and brought her to him. She was a little embarrassed, at first, and then felt there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He held her up in his arms, kissing her as she shivered. He let her down and swum laps back and forth across the 50-foot wide river. There was almost no current, so he was not hampered.

Isabelle, during that time, picked through her hair and got out the knots, twigs, and leaves that had found their way into the tangles. Charlie sneaked up on Isabelle and frightened her, so that she placed her hand over her breast, dazedly. Smiling a little sheepishly, she reached over to Charlie and felt him embrace her.

“You’re so silly, Charlie,” she murmured, the cold getting to her, turning her fingers blue. “Let’s get out of the water.”

“Hello?” asked a voice, from the bank, ten feet from where they stood.